


Mood-lighting

by atouchofprincecharming



Category: Blade Runner (1982)
Genre: Bedroom Sex, Condoms, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Kitchen Sex, Minor Injuries, Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:15:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7737397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atouchofprincecharming/pseuds/atouchofprincecharming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a mess of blood, sweat, and rain. His broken fingers lay lifeless on top of his kitchen counter, and he whimpers a little because it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mood-lighting

**Author's Note:**

> Sex w/ Deckard fic requested by anon over at hffics.  
> I lack a beta.

"Mood Lighting"

He's a mess of blood, sweat, and rain. His broken fingers lay lifeless on top of his kitchen counter, and he whimpers a little because it hurts.

He's alone, rachel is gone... or maybe she's dead. He doesn't care, not right now because everything is making the swelling in his head pulse. He needs to lie down and sleep it off, but he can't seem to move.

The bottle of scotch is closer to him than anything else. He grabs it and rips the cork out. He chugs it, feeling it burn down his throat and into his empty stomach. He doesn't care about being hung over in the morning either.

He needs to splint his fingers, but he can't find his first aid kit. Not to mention his apartment had been broken into and everything from freeloaders, hookers, and trolls have ripped through it like it was a goddamn carnival.

Somebody's after him -- somebody is always after him.

He throws the empty bottle across his kitchen and hears it smash against the wall. He doesn't care about broken glass everywhere because where he thinks it falls is nowhere he needs to be right now.

"Fuck." He barks through clenched teeth as he watches his broken fingers tremble at the slightest touch from his other hand.

He's got to find some tape and a stick for a splint, but he can't find shit at the moment. Everything is too dark and he feels so lifeless.

"Son of a bitch..." He barks as he stomps out of his kitchen. His broken fingers aching in pain as they tremble at his side.

He enters his bathroom and rips open the mirror. He's knocking things all over the place and into his sink. He finally finds some tape, but what will he use as a splint?

He looks around his bathroom, thinking to himself before going back into his kitchen. Opening the fridge he looks for something he might have in there that he can use, but he eventually turns up empty handed.

He slams the fridge shut and tries for the freezer, but ends up with the same results.

There's a knock on the door then and it startles him. Glancing to the clock on his kitchen wall, he thinks about who this visitor could be.

Grabbing his gun with his other hand, he steadily makes his way to his apartment door. Silently, he stands there and waits.

There's another knock, but he can't seem to see anyone through the peep hole.

He rotates his neck trying to relieve some of his tension as he decides on whether he should be bold enough to own his door or not.

The knock comes again and he gives in. Tired of the knocking and feeling in his gut that the person behind his door won't quit.

Ripping open the door he looks at you standing there. You're soaked from head to toe, the rain never lets up around that city.

"I thought I told you never to come back here." His tone rough.

"Does it look like I have anywhere else to go?" You ask, opening your coat to show him that your clothes are torn and you're without shoes. "Move your stubborn ass out of the way and let me in."

He stands there almost blocking you more now than before.

"You have space for me." You insist. "She's gone."

"How do you know?" He's more curious now than angry.

"She wasn't built to stay, Rick." You say it as clearly a you can in hopes he will finally understand. You shove past him and wonder why he's so far on your tail you can't even turn around to ask him a question. "Give me some space."

"What do you know?" He won't let it go.

"I didn't want to come here, but in the condition I'm in I figured that you were the closest apartment I could reach. Please give me a break... you look like you need one, too." You walk into his kitchen, the shattered glass of his booze bottle completely unknown to you, and you step in a pond of broken glass. The pieces pierce your skin and you yelp as he you fall to the ground.

"JESUS CHRIST!" He hollers at you like you've done the dumbest think in your entire life. "WATCH WHERE YOU WALK!"

You try and reach for his hand, unaware of his injury, and he yelps before tugging his hand away and cradling it to his chest.

"What the hell's the matter with you?!" You yell at him as you're left in a pile of glass, bleeding from your foot.

He doesn't answer you. All he does he grab your hand with his other and yanks you off the ground. Your blood is trickling down onto the floor.

He sits you in the only chair he has in his kitchen and points his finger at you in such a stern way you wonder if lasers are going to fly out of it. "Stay there. Don't move." He orders you.

"Rick, what the hell--"

He only shakes his finger at you once before marching off. You sit there in pain and disgust of all the blood dripping from your foot.

He arrives with a towel, soap, tweezers, and bandages.

"I think it'd be best if you get me to a hospital." You've worked with him once or twice before, but never did you become injured while with him and you simply do not trust his doctor skills.

"I know what I'm doing." He mutters.

"What if my foot gets infected?"

He looks at you for a moment, then glares at you before he turns around and opens a kitchen cabinet of his. He pushes a bottle of whiskey in your hands.

"Is this supposed to clean the infection?"

"No. This is." He sprays some sort of ointment on your cut foot and you make an "ahhhhhhhh" sound as it bites you deep inside your foot. "Stings, huh?" He almost smirks a little before he sprays it again.

"You're a bastard."

"You're a fool." He mutters. "I told you not come here."

"So this was a boobytrap?!" You're pissed off now. "What kind of a nut are you?"

"Drink." He uncaps the bottle of whiskey. "It'll stop stinging once you wet your whistle."

You place the bottle down on the ground and cross your arms over your chest. "I'm not thirsty."

He grabs the bottle and takes a swig while shrugging.

"How many of those have you emptied tonight?"

"Just one..." He points to your foot and then to all the glass on the floor.

"Hurry it up will you?" You huff.

He glares at your one more time before tending to your foot.

As you sit there watching him work, you notice how he is avoiding the use of one of his hands. You turn your head to an angle and realize how swollen, yet lifeless they are. "Who broke your fingers?"

He stops working on your foot for a second, then shrugs it off. "They're not broken."

"No?" You almost laugh. "Even I can see that and I'm way up here..."

He sighs. "Don't worry about it."

He's nearly done with your foot when you decide to offer your help. "I can splint those fingers... I've done it before."

"I said I know how to do it myself."

"I've never met anyone who can splint their own fingers."

"I'm special."

"No, you're a stubborn fool." You take your foot out of his hand and admire his work. "Not bad." Standing from the chair, you turn around quickly and try to put him in the chair. He refuses and you try again.

"Would you leave me alone?" He asks. "I said I know what I'm doing."

You grit your teeth; breathing through your flared nostrils. Within the next moment you grab a hold of his fingers and you pull them both in opposite directions. He cries out in pain and almost falls to his knees; breathing heavily with his eyes clenched.

"You--"

"Sit down and shut up." You order him.

He listens. What choice does he have now? "Next time just kick me in the balls." He mutters, wanting you to hear him loud and clear.

"Next time I might just do that." You tell him matter-of-factly. "Now let me see those fingers of yours."

"I haven't got anything to splint it with."

You reach for your bag and pull out a few groceries. "TV Dinner's aren't gonna help you."

You pull out box of ice cream and a box of frozen-pops. Taking one out of the wrapper, you place it into the sink and run hot water over it. Once it's melted you grab the stick and try it off. You go for another frozen-pop to do the same with.

Within record time he's all splinted up and ready for an ice pack. As you gather your groceries, you begin to stack them in his fridge and in his freezer. "Don't worry, I don't plan on staying here more than a couple of nights..."

He sighs. He doesn't want you there, but he also realizes you truly have nowhere to go. He actually knew that already, but he still wanted to give you a hard time because he's in a bad place both physically, mentally, and emotionally.

"Dinner?" You ask him as you start to open a TV dinner.

"I don't like mash potatoes." He tells you. "Or peas."

You stare down at the TV dinner in front of you and notice the mash potatoes and the peas. Eyeing him, you grab the other TV dinner and open it. "Pasta okay?"

"I don't like cheese on it."

"There isn't any cheese on it." You want to scream at his pickiness, but you just ignore the urge and decide to heat his up first so he could use his mouth for less complaining by stuffing it full of food.

\----------

It's nearly past midnight and the both of you are lost in an hour staring match.

"Do you want to talk about her?" You finally ask him.

"There's nothing to talk about." He is so moody.

"Then why do you look like your carrying your heart in your hand?"

"I didn't love her."

"No?" You scoff. "I've never seen you react to any other woman the way you reacted to her."

"That isn't true."

"I've been around you long enough to notice the change." She shrugged. "Just admit you love her. You're only human..." Something in the air shifts with your words, but he doesn't let it grip him too much. "What happened to your apartment?" You decide to ask after hours of noticing all of the mess.

"It still looks better than yours."

You sigh. "That wasn't a nice thing to say."

He shrugs. "It's the truth. You live in a pretty seedy part of town."

You think about it for a moment. "It's all I could afford. Not everyone's some big-shot detective in this city, you know..." She motions to his apartment. "On a good day when you're not feeling sorry for yourself and you don't reek of alcohol this place actually looks like a penthouse suite."

He lets her words sink in. "...sorry." He finally sounds like the Rick you know. "I'm just tired..." He rubs at his eyes; shaking his head a little.

"Why don't you sleep?"

"Can't." He holds up the bottle he offered you before. It's been uncapped for hours and every so often he'll take a big gulp of it. "I haven't been able to sleep for a few nights now... and then I went out and..." He held his hand up. "I fell a little off my big-shot detective game and I..." He inhaled sharply."... ended up with my goddamned fingers broken on my shooter's hand."

You grow tired then and realize that he's never going to open up to you. In his opinion you're still a rookie detective who has far too much to learn and one who has made choices he will only judge you for or question you for.

The truth of it all is that you were tired the moment you knocked on his door and now, four hours later, he's still looking at you with uninviting eyes.

"I'm going to bed." You announce. "I assume your shower is clean enough?" You ask him.

"I haven't checked."

You nod before making your way to your bag and disappearing in his bathroom.

\----------

He's bending down to sweep up the broken glass in and around his kitchen when he hears the faint sound of music coming from his bathroom.

He rolls his eyes a little, forgetting to tell you that there's been a power shortage on his side of the city. The use of your music makes the glowing lights in his kitchen dim so much he can hardly see all the glass on the floor. Carefully he puts down the dustpan and leaves his kitchen where he calls for you on his way.

He's knocking on the bathroom door now, but you can't hear him. Twisting the knob, he walks in and sees the steam all around the glass door of his shower. He notices the radio and he shuts it off with the push of his finger.

You stop washing, sliding the door open, ready to step out to see what's wrong with the radio. You freeze when you notice him standing there looking at your dripping wet naked body.

"You're full of soap." He tells you as if there's nothing else to notice about you.

He turns around then, before you can even say a word to him or yell at him, and he's gone from his bathroom.

You stand there still frozen unsure of what to do.

\----------

He's fingering around with his piano. He never knew how to play, but 'she' did... he remembers.

"What the hell was that about?!" You waste no time now that you're fresh from the shower and completely dressed.

"I knocked." He doesn't give you a moment to think that he wanted to walk in on your naked.

"Am I supposed to believe that?"

"Sure." He shrugged. "Why would I come in there otherwise?"

You blink. You stand there and you blink. "Is this a trick question?"

"No tricks." He removes his hand from the piano and turns his neck to look at you. "I knocked. I even called for you to turn it off, but you couldn't hear me."

You feel so exposed to him even right at that moment and all he can say is what he deliberately tried to do.

"Well?"

He looks at you. "...sorry..." He offers. "Next time don't shower at my place, okay?" He's obtained an attitude now.

"No wonder you couldn't keep her."

He shoots you a nasty look. "You don't know shit."

"Oh, sure sure..." You talk down to him. "She just aimlessly wandered into your life, Rick. When are you going to accept that?"

"One minute you're telling me to admit that I love her and now you're asking me to admit that she's just some warm body--"

"I didn't say that she was just a warm body, but she couldn't have been very much more -- or rather, she wasn't meant to be. Anyone with a brain would have figured that out."

"There was a connection between us."

You don't want to hear about it because hearing him say that makes something inside of you clench. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." He admits. "I felt like she belonged here... and she felt safe here."

"Then why isn't she here?"

"I didn't trust she'd be safe here without me here... so I sent her off, but I went back to where I left her and she wasn't there."

"Because she wasn't supposed to be, Rick." You sigh as you hold your face in your hand. "Why can't you understand that? She wasn't human."

He turns from you then and tries to ignore you, but he wants to lash out at you for that comment and so much more. "She was human to me and that's all that matters. She made me feel."

"You always feel when it comes to some poor soul--"

He shoots off of the piano chair and rushes over to you where he's in your face and in your personal space. "Stop your bitter shit!" He orders. "You're just jealous because nobody has ever cared about you the way I care about her!"

"SHE'S NOT REAL!" You insist.

He storms away from you and into his kitchen. As soon as his hands rest on the counter top, the lights begin to change from blue to pink and then a raging red. The instant change catches you off guard and you feel a tightness in the bit of your stomach.

"...what--"

"I can make them change. My emotions can make them change." He tells you like he's morphing into something you've never known. "I noticed it a few months ago... or she did." His shoulders are tense and he's breathing hard. "I don't know how or why it happens... but something happened to me on one of my routine stakeouts..."

"Did you tell--"

"I haven't told anyone about it..." He turns his neck sharply and his eyes beam in your direction. "Don't tell anybody."

You put your hands up. "I wouldn't even know how to get anyone to believe me..." You slowly start to back away.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." He tells you. "I'm just angry...I'm just upset..." The lights begin to shift from red to blue and then to green. You see that he places a hand on his stomach. "...too much booze..." He mutters.

You wonder if he's gonna be sick and if the green glow coming from his bulbs is because of how sick he feels.

"...were you around any chemicals?"

"What chemicals could do this?"

You shrug. You haven't got an answer.

"How many colors can you expose?" You ask him.

"A few others...besides these..." The light glows red again. "Stop looking at me like I'm some sort of freak. I'm not a freak."

You shake your head. "If I had thought you were a freak I'd have been out of here the moment I saw what you could do..." You decide to walk closer until you're able to touch him. Putting your hand on his shoulder, you feel so much tension pulsing through him. "You need to relax."

"I'll relax when I'm able to get myself under control." He explains. "I just need time."

You take a step back. "I didn't meant to intensify your anger. Had I known, I would have left you alone and not tried to get you to talk about your feelings."

"I understand." He says as easily as he can. "When I'm upset it can go either way..." He waits for you to make a smart-ass reply, but you don't. "Either I shift to anger and the lights go red or I shift to a deep blue because..." He looks at you then, skipping a few beats. "...nevermind."

"I'm listening." You tell him.

"I rather not..." He turns away from you, almost embarrassed.

You're almost dying to know what he wants to say, but can't say. Instead you try to touch him again, this time using two hands to rub at his tense shoulders.

He drops his head and almost slumps against the kitchen counters before he groaning a little. It catches you off guard and you swallow, wondering if it's okay or right what you are doing and what he is allowing you to do.

As if he's on the same wavelengh as you, he shifts and lets you work his shoulders a little more.

soon though, you notice a tremble in the lighting and it starts to shift into the deep blue he wouldn't tell you about. Knitting your eyebrows you try to read his face, but you're at a loss. He doesn't look angry anymore or even that upset, and his mouth is open and a slightly crooked. He's panting a little and suddenly you feel him push back at the waist so his hips aren't flush against his kitchen counter.

"...are you okay?" You ask him as you remove your hands from his shoulders and take a few steps away from him. "... the color changed..." You mention.

He tries to turn away from you in the opposite direction, but you're following him as if you're going around him like the circle he's trying to create.

"What's the matter?" You abrupty grab on to his shoulders and spin him around; worried he might be foaming at the mouth and needing an instant rush to the hospital. Instead, loses his blance and pins you to the counter he was just pressed against.

And you feel him from his stern chest down to the bulge between his legs.

You instantly push him away from you at the waist and gasp. You swallow then, feeling every level of shame as you try to form words though your lips aren't moving.

You think he will apologize, but he just stands there where you pushed him and watches you watch him.

"I tried to control it..." He begins, his face innocent. "I didn't mean..."

"Of course you didn't." You sharply say.

"That's not what I'm saying." His intentions aren't to hurt your feelings.

"How many emotions do I bring out of you anyway?" You ask sarcastically. "And is this what it always comes to? Do I piss you off only to turn you on and then... then I get told I can't come here or that I don't belong here?" You are upset now and angry. "I know my emotions can't change the mood-lighting in this place, but please tell me, Rick, just how it all works."

"I don't have relations with my partners."

"I was your partner three years ago." You shake your head. "You've seen me at my worst... and even naked now..." You try to shake that thought of your head. "...and now I've seen you at your weakest, right here, right now..." She looked around. "And where's your girlfriend through it all?"

He stiffens.

"You never gave us a chance because you were too set in your ways...and your rules... and because I wasn't some lost soul who couldn't find her way. You couldn't save me or try to... so I wasn't worth much to you."

"Stop putting words in my mouth."

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to do!" You shout at him.

You can't take the sight of his face anymore so you try to escape his kitchen and on to where you left your bag and your coat so you can rush out of his apartment and do as he always wanted; never come back.

He grabs you by the arm and stops you from leaving the situation.

"Stop it." He tells you in a harsh whisper.

His kitchen is so blue now it's almost black and so are his eyes. They're like black, tar-y pools and it frightens you more than anything else, but you feel a surge of excitement while he grabs you and sits you onto of the counter.

He's sweaty and bitter from the alcohol, but he's still very much within his senses and it takes him no time at all to work his fingers through one of the legs of your shorts over to your warm center. Pushing some material aside, in sections he's running his two fingers up and down your clit while he stands close and breathes in your personal space.

You shut your eyes because nothing has felt this good in such quite awhile; and then he plunges inside. Raking his fingers up and down your walls. It isn't enough and he knows that as you struggle so hard to work against his fingers.

He takes you off the counter and pushes your shorts down to the ground, ripping your underwear slightly as that follows next. He doesn't mean to and he mutters a sorry.

You're back on the counter and your legs have magically found their way open. You're spread so wide you're nearly taking up all of the counter space he has. It isn't much, but you've never been that open with anyone before.

You can't stand to see yourself so helpless, so you try to close your legs, but he prevents you from doing so. He has all the space he needs in order to probe your opening and thumb around your clit. You want to moan, but you bite back.

His breath is coming out in heavy pants and you see the front of his pants about to burst through the button and the zipper.

He picks up one of your legs and begins to drag it up where it can rest somewhere on his forearm or his bicep and he puts even more effort into fingering you into the abyss.

It's too much yet not enough and you find yourself lifting that leg higher as well as the other one, allowing him to go deeper and allowing more of a chance for wetness to end up all over his counters.

The thought if so obscene yet you can't bring yourself to tell him to stop. Only a minute or so later when you feel your inner walls start to clench around his fingers is when he stops and withdraws his fingers.

They're sticky and they're wet and some of you most likely ended on the bandages of his broken fingers as well.

Standing there he looks at you for directions and anything else you want to say to him.

You feel so full of shame and guilt, but the burning between your legs is too powerful to ignore.

"Tell me." He finally speaks.

You can't even speak and he wants you to speak.

You try to reach for his hand; desperate to get it back to where it was, but you feel yourself slipping off the counter a little and closing your legs in order to balance yourself.

The floor is still full of glass and everything seems so cramped at the moment.

"I don't have any protection." You tell him then.

"I do." He's always been prepared. Even when she worked with him he had a bag full of everything one would need for any occasion. "There's a box in my room."

You never even seen his bedroom, but within five minutes you had taken it all in at once and had ended up in the middle of his bed, flat on your back, with your legs wide open.

Just looking at you made his erection strain even more against the front of his pants.

Reaching towards the button and the zipper, you work it down in record time.

His room is nearly pitch black. All the lights such a deep blue they're about to burn out -- or explode. You watch him as he pulls himself out and pushes the material of his pants and briefs as far as he he needs to free his balls as well.

You're a soaking mess now having been so close to an orgasm and having to wait ten minutes later; your arousal increasing as the seconds and minutes ticked on.

He's in his nightstand and he grabbing at the box. Ripping the foil open he rolls it over shaft trying his best not to buck into his hand as he does so.

He grunts as he positions himself between your legs and without any warning to him, you grab his firm ass and shove him in as far as he can go. He chokes on his breath and uses his forearms to hold himself up. You use that moment to squeeze around his shaft.

That causes him to shake as he tries to control himself. You waste no time in opening your legs wider and nearly placing them over his shoulders.

He growls as he feels his balls slapping against the bottom of your ass. You feel it too and you feel your wetness spilling all over them.

While he's finding a steady pace you're grabbing a hold of one of his hands so you can place two of his fingers on your clit. He starts storking you while he's pulling out on every stroke.

You've never bit your lip before, but you're doing now and it catches his eye. Watching you, he realizes you two have never even kissed.

Slowing down a bit, he captures your lips in a passionate kiss you weren't even sure he was capable of. All the while you're laying there in amazement, he's nibbling on the lip your were just biting and soothing it over with his tongue after every little nip.

You want to come so badly. You feel the burning in the pit of your stomach and your legs begin to tremble. He pulls away from your mouth so you can let out a strangled sigh that pulls him so close to spilling over the edge.

You grab his ass again and you're helping him drive into you faster and harder. You're squeezing him in all the right places and he's slowly losing control.

"Come." He tells you, desperate to have you finish before him.

You work against him, trying to get there, but something is holding you back.

"What is it?" He asks while pinching your clit between his fingers on his good hand.

You don't say anything, but place a hand on one of your breasts and it registers in him faster than anything else. Knocking your hand away, he attaches his mouth to your nipple and flicks his tongue against it while rubbing your clit deeply and firmly and pounding into you.

Within a minute or so of that and you're almost locking your legs around his neck as you feel your orgasm hit you. You're gripping his shaft so tightly if it were ever possible to break it off, you would have. He's thick and he's pulsing, but he isn't coming yet and you feel yourself start to turn to jelly as your legs slip off his shoulder and land near his waist; still bent and open.

He leaves your clit alone and uses his hand with the other one to balance himself so he can rotate his hips slowly; trying to press into you at a different angle. Just went he thinks he's not going to find much help in coming he watches as you trail your fingers down your body and settle on your clit. Now he's looking back between your face and your hand and he's picking up speed.

He hums a little and he grunts right before he's arches his back and bucks a few times, spilling into the condom.

Even after he's milked himself, his balls still feel heavy and his shaft still pulses. He takes some time to drive into slowly until he feels you clench around him. It's your second orgasm and you're quietly coming again as he stays there, filling you.

The lights soon transition back to their natural blue.

And the sun seems to be coming up.

**Author's Note:**

> No offense meant to any Deckard/Rachel shippers.


End file.
